Farewell to Irkutsk
Our party was so large that the boat made two journeys to ferry us over the water. I remained till the last, and on the bank of the river bade adieu to Irkutsk and its hospitable citizens. I may not visit them again, but I can never forget the open hearted kindness I enjoyed. The Siberians have a climate of great severity, but its frosts and snows have not been able to chill the spirit of genuine courtesy, as every traveler in that region can testify. Hospitality is a custom of the country, and all the more pleasing because heartily and cheerfully bestowed.
The shades of night were falling fast as I climbed the river bank, and began my sleigh ride toward the west. The arched gateway at Irkutsk close by the ferry landing, is called the Moscow entrance, and is said to face directly toward the ancient capital. As I reached the road, I shouted “poshol” to the yemshick, and we dashed off in fine style. At the church or monastery six versts away, I overtook our party. The ladies were in the chapel offering their prayers for a prosperous journey. When they emerged we were ready to go forward over a road not remarkable for its smoothness.
At the first station our friends joined us in taking tea. Cups, glasses, cakes, champagne bottles, cakes and cold meats, crept somehow from mysterious corners in our vehicles. The station master was evidently accustomed to visits like this, as his rooms were ready for our reception. We were two hours in making our adieus, and consuming the various articles provided for the occasion. There was a general kissing all around at the last moment.
We packed the ladies in their sleigh, and then entered our own. As we left the station our friends joined their voices in a farewell song that rang in our ears till lost in the distance, and drowned by nearer sounds. Our bells jingled merrily in the frosty air as our horses sped rapidly along the road. We closed the front of our sleigh, and settled among our furs and pillows. The night was cold, but in my thick wrappings I enjoyed a tropical warmth and did not heed the low state of the thermometer.
Our road for seventy versts lay along the bank of the Angara. A thick fog filled the valley and seemed to hug close to the river. In the morning every part of our sleigh except at the points of friction, was white with frost. Each little fibre projecting from our cover of canvas and matting became a miniature stalactite, and the head of every nail, bolt, and screw, buried itself beneath a mass like oxydised silver. Everything had seized upon and congealed some of the moisture floating in the atmosphere. Our horses were of the color, or no color, of rabbits in January; it was only by brushing away the frost that the natural tint of their hair could be discovered, and sometimes there was a great deal of frost adhering to them.
During my stay at Irkutsk I noticed the prevalence of this fog or frost cloud. It usually formed during the night and was thickest near the river. In the morning it enveloped the whole city, but when the sun was an hour or two in the heavens, the mist began to melt away. It remained longest over the river, and I was occasionally in a thick cloud on the bank of the Angara when the atmosphere a hundred yards away was perfectly clear. The moisture congealed on every stationary object. Houses and fences were cased in ice, its thickness varying with the condition of the weather. Trees and bushes became masses of crystals, and glistened in the sunlight as if formed of diamonds. I could never wholly rid myself of the impression that some of the trees were fountains caught and frozen when in full action. The frost played curious tricks of artistic skill, and its delineations were sometimes marvels of beauty.
Any one who has visited St. Petersburg in winter remembers the effect of a fog from the Gulf of Finland after a period of severe cold. The red granite columns of St. Isaac’s church are apparently transformed into spotless marble by the congelation of moisture on their surface. In the same manner I have seen a gray wall at Irkutsk changed in a night and morning to a dazzling whiteness. The crystalline formation of the frost had all the varieties of the kaleidoscope without its colors.
I slept well during the night, awaking occasionally at the stations or when the sleigh experienced an unusually heavy thump. In the morning I learned we had traveled a hundred and sixty versts from Irkutsk. The road was magnificent after leaving the valley of the Angara, and the sleigh glided easily and with very little jolting.
“No cloud above, no earth below;
A universe of sky and snow.”
I woke to daylight and found a monotonous country destitute of mountains and possessing few hills. It was generally wooded, and where under cultivation near the villages there was an appearance of fertility. There were long distances between the clusters of houses, and I was continually reminded of the abundant room for increase of population.
We stopped for breakfast soon after sunrise. The samovar was ordered, and our servants brought a creditable supply of toothsome little cakes and pies. These with half a dozen cups of tea to each person prepared us for a ride of several hours. We dined a little before sunset, and for one I can testify that full justice was done to the dinner.
Very little can be had at the stations on this road, so that experienced travelers carry their own provisions. One can always obtain hot water, and generally bread, and eggs, but nothing else is certain. In winter, provisions can be easily carried as the frost preserves them alike from decaying or crushing. Soup, meats, bread, and other edibles can be carried on long routes with perfect facility. There is a favorite preparation for Russian travel under the name of pilmania. It is a little ball of minced meat covered with dough, the whole being no larger than a robin’s egg. In a frozen state a bag full of pilmania is like the same quantity of walnuts or marbles, and can be tossed about with impunity. When a traveler wishes to dine upon this article he orders a pot of boiling water and tosses a double handful of pilmania into it. After five minutes boiling the mass is ready to be eaten in the form of soup. Salt, pepper, and vinegar can be used with it to one’s liking.
Our diner du voyage consisted of pilmania, roast beef, and partridge with bread, cakes, tea, and quass. Our table furniture was somewhat limited, and the room was littered with garments temporarily discarded. The ladies were crinolineless, and their coiffures were decidedly not Parisian. My costume was a cross between a shooting outfit and the everyday dress of a stevedore, while my hair appeared as if recently dressed with a currant bush. Captain Paul was equally unpresentable in fastidious parlors, but whatever our apparel it did not diminish the keenness of our appetites. The dinner was good, and the diners were hungry and happy. Fashion is wholly rejected on the Siberian road, and each one makes his toilet without regard to French principles and tastes.
According to Russian custom, somebody was to be thanked for the meal. As the dinner came from the provisions in the servants’ sleigh we presented our acknowledgments to Madame Rodstvenny. With the forethought of an experienced traveler the lady had carefully provided her edibles and so abundant was her store that my supply was rarely drawn upon. We were more like a pic-nic party than a company of travelers on a long journey in a Siberian winter. Mademoiselle was fluent in French, and charming in its use. The only drawback to general conversation was my inability to talk long with Madame except by interpretation. In our halts we managed to pass the time in tea-drinking, conversation, and sometimes with music of an impromptu character. I remember favoring air appreciative audience with a solo on a trunk key, followed by mademoiselle and the captain in a duett on a tin cup and a horn comb covered with letter paper.
There was very little scenery worthy of note. The villages generally lay in single streets each containing from ten to a hundred houses. Between these clusters of dwellings there was little to be seen beyond a succession of wooded ridges with stretches of open ground. The continued snow-scape offered no great variety on the first day’s travel, and before night I began to think it monotonous. The villages were from ten to twenty miles apart, and very much the same in general characteristics. The stations had a family likeness. Each had a travelers’ room more or less comfortable, and a few apartments for the smotretal and his attendants. The travelers’ room had some rough chairs, one or two hard sofas or benches, and the same number of tables. While the horses were being changed we had our option to enter the station or stay out of doors. I generally preferred the latter alternative on account of the high temperature of the waiting rooms, which necessitated casting off one’s outer garment on entering. During our halts I was fain to refresh myself with a little leg stretching and found it a great relief.
The first movement at a station is to present the padaroshnia and demand horses. Marco Polo says, that the great Khan of Tartary had posting stations twenty-five miles apart on the principal roads of his empire. A messenger or traveler carried a paper authorizing him to procure horses, and was always promptly supplied. The padaroshnia is of ancient date, if Marco be trustworthy. It is not less important to a Russian traveler at present than to a Tartar one in earlier times. Our documents were efficacious, and usually brought horses with little delay. The size of our party was a disadvantage as we occasionally found one or two sets of horses ready but were obliged to wait a short time for a third. Paul had a permit to impress horses in the villages while I carried a special passport requesting the authorities to ‘lend me all needed assistance.’ This was generally construed into despatching me promptly, and we rarely failed with a little persuasion and money, to secure horses for the third sleigh.
When we entered the stations for any purpose the sleighs and their contents remained unguarded in the streets, but we never lost anything by theft. With recollections of my experience at stage stations in America, I never felt quite at ease at leaving our property to care for itself. My companions assured me that thefts from posting vehicles seldom occur although the country numbers many convicts among its inhabitants. The native Siberians have a reputation for honesty, and the majority of the exiles for minor offences lead correct lives. I presume that wickedly inclined persons in villages are deterred from stealing on account of the probability of detection and punishment. So far as my experience goes the inhabitants of Siberia are more honest that those of European Russia. In Siberia our sleighs required no watching when we left them. After passing the Ural mountains it was necessary to hire a man to look after our property when we breakfasted and dined.
The horses being the property of the station we paid for them at every change. On no account was the navodku or drink-money to the driver forgotten, and it varied according to the service rendered. If the driver did well but made no special exertion we gave him eight or ten copecks, and increased the amount as we thought he deserved. On the other hand if he was obstinate and unaccommodating he obtained nothing. If he argued that the regulations required only a certain speed we retorted that the regulations said nothing about drink-money. In general we found the yemshicks obliging and fully entitled to their gratuities. We went at breakneck pace where the roads permitted, and frequently where they did not. A travelers’ speed depends considerably on the drink-money he is reported to have given on the previous stage. If illiberal to a good driver or liberal to a bad one he cannot expect rapid progress.
The regulations require a speed of ten versts (6-2/3 miles) per hour for vehicles not on government service. If the roads are bad the driver can lessen his pace, but he must make all proper exertion to keep up to the schedule. When they are good and the driver is thirsty (as he generally is), the regulations are not heeded. We arranged for my sleigh to lead, and that of the servants to bring up the rear. Whatever speed we went the others were morally certain to follow, and our progress was frequently exciting. Money was potent, and we employed it. Fifteen copecks was a liberal gratuity, and twenty bordered on the munificent. When we increased our offer to twenty-five or thirty it was pretty certain to awaken enthusiasm. Sometimes the pecuniary argument failed, and obliged us to proceed at the legal rate. In such cases we generally turned aside and placed the ladies in advance.
We made twelve, fourteen, or sixteen versts per hour, and on one occasion I held my watch, and found that we traveled a trifle less than twenty-two versts or about fourteen and a half miles in sixty minutes. I do not think I ever rode in America at such a pace (without steam) except once when a horse ran away with me. Ordinarily we traveled faster than the rate prescribed by regulation, and only when the roads were bad did we fall below it. We studied the matter of drink-money till it became an exact science.
About noon on the first day from Irkutsk we took a yemshick who proved sullen in the highest degree. The country was gently undulating, and the road superb but our promises of navodku were of no avail. We offered and entreated in vain. As a last resort we shouted in French to the ladies and suggested that they take the lead. Our yemshick ordered his comrade to keep his place, and refused to turn aside to allow him to pass. He even slackened his speed and drew his horses to a walk. Our stout-armed garcon took a position on our sleigh, and by a fistic argument succeeded in turning us aside. We made only fair progress, and were glad when the drive was ended.
When we began our rapid traveling, I had fears that the sleigh would go to pieces in consequence, but was soon convinced that everything was lovely. The sport was exciting, and greatly relieved the monotony of travel. We were so protected by furs, pillows, blankets, and hay, that our jolting and bounding had no serious result. The ladies enjoyed it as much as ourselves, and were not at all inconvenienced by any ordinary shaking. Once at the end of a furious ride of twenty versts, I found the madame asleep and learned that she had been so since leaving the last station.
I have ridden much in American stage coaches, and witnessed some fine driving in the west and in California. But for rapidity and dash, commend me always to the Siberian yemshicks.